"They haven't released him, I suppose?" asked Malcolm, and Malinkoff shook his head.
"He is to be interrogated," he said. "Evidently there is something which Boolba wants to know about us, and which he believes this man will tell."
Malcolm was silent, turning matters over in his mind.
"He won't tell anything that will injure us," he said.
"But the man is a crook," said Malinkoff; "that is the word, isn't it?"
"That's the word," agreed Malcolm grimly, "but he's also a man of my own race and breed, and whilst I would not trust him with my pocket-book—or I should not have trusted him before I came in here—I think I can trust him with my life, supposing that he has my life in his hands."
In twenty minutes Cherry Bim was back, very solemn and mysterious until the gaoler was gone. Then he asked:
"Who is Israel Kensky, anyway?"
"Why?" asked Malcolm quickly.
"Because I'm going to make a statement about him—a written statement," he said cheerfully. "I'm going to have a room all to myself," he spoke slowly as though he were repeating something which he had already told himself, "because I am not a
